Not Easy Being Famous
Not Easy Being Famous Monday April 27, 2009 by Joseph Howse, Paladin Reporter A Candid One-on-One With the Redoubtable FA I nearly dropped my Danger Sense when I heard the news. The Famous Adventurer, FA himself, had summoned me for an interview. Once I was settled in his office between two stacks of dusty books, I struggled to find words for the questions on my mind. At last, coaxed by the venerable veteran’s smile, I managed to blurt out, JH: FA, you seem to have led such an incredible life; how does one man fit so many adventures into the ordinary bounds of mortality? FA: You lead with the tough questions, kid! I’m game for that; it’s hard hitting; it’s edgy. How do you like this for an answer? I don’t fit it into one life! I’m five men, ten, twenty, take your pick—and weirdings from another world write my books! JH: Chuckling. I don’t believe that for an instant, FA. FA: You don’t, but it’s the kind of story you can buy at the Dead Parrot for the price of Raseirish coffee. There’s too much of it going around! JH: The coffee, or the rumor that you’re not one person? FA: Too much of both, lad! JH: But seriously, FA, it surprises me that people—Silmarians, no less, your neighbors— would question your integrity, your very existence. FA: That’s the way of the Hero, lad. We never do anything but that somebody says we didn’t, or says it didn’t need doing in the first place. Take that Baba Yaga. I’ve never met the woman, but do you know how many bat-mails she’s sent me, saying if it weren’t for my old Correspondence School and its famous graduate she’d still be playing cards with Erasmus in Spielburg, or tanning in Avoozl’s radiance in Mordavia, or eating more grue goo because the swamp would be bigger, or this, or that, or the other? Relentless! I used to enjoy having the window open in the evenings—let in that fresh Med air once the fishmongers had gone home. Now I have to keep my window shut or the bat-mail just flies in! Thump! JH: Oh dear. FA: There goes another one, headlong into the glass. I hope some Katta doesn’t eat it. Saleem and Julanar are starting to make noises to me about how many rare ingredients it takes to treat rabies. That’s how it goes, lad . . . in answer to your question. One grievance spirals into another. A Hero still has to rise up and face it. JH: Hmm. Now, what does give you the strength to rise above those voices of discouragement, of desperation, despondency, despair? I understand you’ve dealt with disappointments in the past: being blindsided by King Justinian’s assassination, seeing the previous School repossesed by Homunculus Capital, being turned down for the teaching post in that second rate college in Albion . . . FA: Hippocrene. JH: . . . and then there’s . . . FA: Hippocrene water! Anytime I get so foolish as to stop taking it, his Heroic Highness drops in and reminds me. I was feeling in the dumps (Something funny with my spleen) Till the Hero from the North Had me quaff some Hippocrene! That’s a work in progress, but you can print it, lad. Maybe one of the budding bards will put it to music. We need somebody to sing the praises of our new Hippocrene bottling operation. Genius, that business is. Get two pairs of magic magnets and you can transport it as safely as anything. JH: Except Science Island says it’s not safe. FA: Sure, magnets can be deadly—if you have bolts in your head! Have you seen the test subjects they use up there? The scientists would say anything to put us out of business, boy—but it won’t work! Arthritic old apparatus oilers. You can print that. JH: On brighter subjects (and more colorful), what do you think of the Mighty Meeps, FA? FA: Our school team is shaping up splendidly, lad! They’ll win the Peeps Cup; I can feel it! JH: Good, good. FA: The only thing missing is another Meep team to compete. JH: Right, naturally. What other happenings can students expect in the near future, FA? I think everyone senses that this first year is going to be an eventful one. FA: You can’t expect adventure, lad! We Heroes don’t make the prophecies; we just go mad fulfilling them. I have this funny feeling, though, something about . . . Probably I’m just late for my Hippocrene. I don’t know about my next adventure but I’ll tell you about my last one! JH: Please, do! FA: This morning, Sarra lost her basket, Sarra from the market. JH: Again? FA: I know, kid. Every student has found it for her one time or another, but something different can always happen along the way. This time, when I found it, there were dragonling eggs inside! JH: What do you make of that, FA? FA: An omelet! I certainly didn’t want to hatch them, not after what the last full-grown dragon did! JH: One final question, FA, and then I’ll let you get back to your writing. What class do you consider yourself? FA: You end on the tough questions, too, lad. Edgy. I suppose my parents were working people but they instilled in me the value of study. JH: What class of Hero, I mean. FA: Ah! You can’t class me! Not that way, lad! I wrote the book on every one of them. JH: Can’t argue with that, FA. Well, I’m honored to have had this chat; you’ve been so generous with your time. FA: Goodnight, lad. Watch for bats and weirdings. As I crept out, my head was still a-spin. FA had spoken with his signature combination of gifted gab and guarded sagacity. What was the full meaning of his words, and what had he deliberately left for us, dear readers, to discover on our own? Category:Ars Heroica